


Here With Me

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Family, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Non-Consensual Spanking, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Series, Punishment, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Weechesters, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 19:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: "Sam, go into the bathroom."Sam didn't want to go. The minute he'd close the bathroom door behind him, Dad would have his belt out of his jeans. But staying in the room wouldn't prevent Dad from whipping Dean; it would only make his brother feel worse about it.So he went.





	Here With Me

**Author's Note:**

> The spanking in this story is off-screen, if it still may disturb you, please don't read.
> 
> Awesome beta provided by [CrazedPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedPanda) and [ToscaRossetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti) \- if you haven't read their stories you have something missing in your lives, people!

"Sam, go into the bathroom."

Sam looked from Dad to Dean. His brother stood staring at his toes like he had since they came back from school and throughout Dad's furious lecture.

"Go, Sam," Dad repeated. Sam didn't want to go. The minute he'd close the bathroom door behind him, Dad would have his belt out of his jeans. He already had his hand on the buckle. Maybe if he stayed here, Dad wouldn't use it.

Dean glanced up, mouthed "go", and dropped his eyes again. Sam tightened his lips. He may have been just eleven years old, but he wasn't dumb. Of course staying in the room wouldn't prevent Dad from whipping Dean; it would only make his brother feel worse about it. So he went.

He had just sunk down to sit on the floor with his back to the tub when the first whack was heard. Sam clutched his hands over his ears and leaned his elbows on his raised knees. Combined with the closed door, it muffled the sounds considerably, but didn't shut them out. It never did.

At least he didn't hear Dean's reaction. Dean always did his best to stay quiet, no matter how bad the whipping was. It was pride as well as trying to prove to Dad that he could take his punishment like a man, but that wasn't all there was to it; Dean thought it would upset Sam, or maybe make him think his awesome big brother wasn't as tough as he wanted Sam to believe he was. Sam could have told him that he would never think less of him because of something like that, but he didn't dare bring it up. Besides, the part about him getting upset _was_ true.

Sam could feel a tingle in his eyes and blinked several times, hard. He wasn't going to cry. He knew that as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, Dean would look him over the way he did when he wanted to make sure Sam was okay – as if _he_ was the one Dean should have been worried about, the moron – and then _Dean_ would get upset because Sam had been crying. It was so stupid.

Despite the best of his efforts, an errant tear slipped past his left eyelid and down his cheek. He moved a hand to wipe it away, and the next whack of the belt boomed into his brain. Startled, he quickly covered his ear again and curled onto himself until his head was almost between his knees. The following tears he let flow undisturbed.

There were times when Sam tried to count how many lashes there were. He could never keep at it, though; either because he was trying to block the sounds out, or because the blood was roaring in his ears and his heart was thumping so hard in his chest, or because he was sometimes whimpering, just a little bit, and it made him lose count. What did it matter, anyway? It didn't help Dean any, that's for sure.

What _could_ have helped Dean was keeping his smart mouth shut; he might have gotten away with giving some teacher attitude, but Sam's dumbass of a brother just _had_ to sass the _principal_. Go big or go home. So Dean went big _and_ went home, and home was where your heart was, but also where Dad's belt came off while Sam was left to cry alone in the bathroom.

Silence fell on the other side of the door. Sam moved his hands, carefully, ready to clamp them right back over his ears if needed, but he could hear nothing. He didn't get up yet; Dean would take a few minutes more to calm down and Dad wouldn't call Sam back into the room until his brother had settled.

In the meantime Sam wiped his face with his hands, sniffled and reached for the toilet paper to blow his nose as quietly as he could. He probably should have washed his face, but it might have made him look like he had been crying harder than he actually was. Not that he cried that hard, anyway. Why would he? It was just his stupid big brother getting his stupid butt whipped for getting into stupid trouble at that stupid school.

"Sam, you can come out now," Dad's voice nearly made him jump. He wiped his sleeves over his cheeks one last time, took a breath and opened the door.

Dad was by the kitchenette table, clearly having just sat down a second ago, as he was still adjusting the chair and sliding it closer to the table. Their eyes met for a moment before Dad gave him a half-smile and then opened his journal and turned his attention to it.

Dean's jeans and shoes were on the floor, while their owner was crouched by his duffle in socks and boxers. He stood up with a pair of sweatpants in his hand, saw Sam looking at him, and grinned. Even though his eyes were a little red, that smile sparkled in them.

"Heya, Sammy. Sorry for keeping you away from your history homework. You can get that nerdy little ass of yours back to your books now."

Sam didn't reply. He went to Dean, wrapped his arms around his midsection and pushed his face into Dean's shirt. Fresh tears were starting to well up, but he couldn't care less.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Was his brother so dumb he didn't know what's wrong? Well, Sam wasn't going to _explain_ it to him, not with how his throat was all tight like this. Dean's arms slid around him.

"It's okay, Sammy. Hey, it's okay. Don't cry, kiddo, c'mon," he wasn't crying. He _wasn't_. There were just these annoying tears and the lump in his throat and the way his chest felt hot. And there might have been a little whimper, but only one.

Dean's fingers brushed through his hair and tickled his scalp. His other arm was around Sam's shoulders, warm and firm and steady. His heart was beating against Sam's ear, and Sam burrowed deeper into his brother.

"You're a jerk, you know that?" His voice was hardly audible to his own ears, but he knew Dean could hear him. Dean always could. "A big, fat, _stupid_ jerk."

Dean's soft chuckle sent ripples through both their bodies. He hugged Sam closer. "Right back atcha, bitch."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

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